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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25746508">The Future Everyone Wanted: Simple Present</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Knight_Wonder/pseuds/1Knight_Wonder'>1Knight_Wonder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Future Everyone Wanted [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Gen, New Faction, Post-Fallout 4, Series, The Institute (Fallout), Two Sole Survivors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:16:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,390</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25746508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Knight_Wonder/pseuds/1Knight_Wonder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Abby was poised to have it all. She had just begun to make sense and make a way in the wasteland. Hell, she was even named the Sentinel of the Brotherhood of Steel's splinter group. Elder Maxson stepped down and Elder Lyons was to take his place without a drop of blood shed. But someone else had other, greater plans for the Commonwealth, for the whole wasteland the US had become. And over time she would have to come to grips with being in the Sole Survivor's world.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cait/Sole Survivor (Fallout)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Future Everyone Wanted [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867639</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. New World, Old People</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As a giant robot revved to life and started to look up at the Prydwen, a firm hand landed on the future Director's shoulder. </p><p>"It's time to go sir." </p><p>The lone human wearing Institute armor looked back at the elite Courser X6-88, his face cold as usual. A gentle nod was all the man gave before he and the rest of the organic fighters relayed away to a safe distance. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>The Upper Stands, Diamond City, 7:01pm</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>A woman sat with her legs dangling off the famous baseball stadium's walls, a frame of power armor beside her and a half-drunk bottle of Gwinnett Stout in hand. </p><p>“Thank God for Buddy..."</p><p>The stars were out and it was a peaceful night, not a care in the world; The Commonwealth was going to be a better place from now on. </p><p>“Commander of Lyons’ Pride, huh..." The woman chuckled. “If anything, we’re a long way from that ‘law degree’.”</p><p>Chuckling once more at the thought, she went for another swig of the cold beer when suddenly, something caught her attention.</p><p>"Huh?!"</p><p> A flash filled the sky and a guttural boom emanated shortly after. The woman looked around for the cause and her eyes could not miss the sight: a ball of fire falling over Boston Airport. Confusion was followed by sheer dread</p><p>"What the... oh shit."</p><p>“Hey, what do you see up there?” One of the city guards shouted to her. She couldn’t answer; her knees began to buckle and her bottle of beer clanged down the bleachers.</p><p>All that followed was a tempest of dirt and small debris... and the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> 1Knight_Wonder and Lemon_A1DE present: </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>The Future Everyone Wanted</b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Diamond District, September 17, 2289, 16 months after the Prydwen Incident.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>"Nani shimasho ka?"</p><p>"No, I don’t think it was a <em> hydrogen leak </em>."</p><p>"Nani shimasho ka?"</p><p>She sighs and raises her hands in mock defeat.</p><p>"I guess you of all people would know the truth."</p><p> </p><p>Abby handed over some caps and promptly left Takahashi's food stand. She stretched and walked over, past the loitering Gen 1 synths, to Diamond District’s (renamed ever since the ‘Reunification of Boston’ campaign started by the joint Institute and Minutemen governing bodies) most reputable doomsayer, conveniently stationed outside Publick Occurrences and speaking to a prepubescent girl.</p><p> </p><p>"Come on, Piper!"</p><p>"I am <em> not </em>about to let you operate the press after what you did last time."</p><p>"That was bad luck..."</p><p>"Pretty sure <em> you're </em>just bad luck."</p><p>"I don't wanna hear that from someone who got kidnapped by the Children of Atom and got kicked out of Diamond District in the same lifeti-"</p><p>The red trench coat-clad reporter put a hand over her little sister's noisy mouth. </p><p>"Stop making a scene! We get enough flak on a regular basis!"</p><p>"Ehem."</p><p>The Wright sisters turned to meet the source of the sound: a cross-armed mercenary and longtime friend/badass. Piper was the first to pipe up as she desperately tried to divert attention from the shouting match she was having.</p><p>"Heyyy, Abby. Finished interrogating poor Takahashi?"</p><p>"I'll try again tomorrow. What's new?"</p><p>Piper turned to her sister and pointed to an area behind her.</p><p>"Nat, would you be a dear and do your job?"</p><p>"Fine."</p><p>The girl huffed and stood up on her box, ready to deliver the gospel truth to the wicked masses.</p><p>Piper turned back to her friend and spoke more civilly, and more importantly, quietly. "Well, people are unresponsive as you would expect."</p><p>"I think ‘<em> scared’ </em>is more accurate. The people have gotten used to the clean water and the synthetic food that any idea of going back is..." Piper cringed a little at the thought and Abby gazed beside her, eyeing the Institute flag flying proudly beside the Publick. Piper didn’t want it, and for the longest time the people didn’t want it, but there it flew dominantly in the wind.</p><p>“I read your article from a year back,” Abby said, still looking a little too spitefully at the flag. The Virtruvian Man used to be a symbol of science, of human knowledge evolving, but now it was a very real symbol of terror to any who dreamt of defacing it.</p><p>“Hmm?” Piper tried to get Abby’s attention back since entering her little trance.</p><p>Abby responded without taking her eyes off the flag. “When your source told you the Vault Dweller, that “sole survivor”, was the new Director... I thought <em> immediately </em>that you betrayed the Commonwealth. When you said the Institute could be a part of our future..."</p><p>“Abby... humanity-”</p><p>“<em> Is </em> the Commonwealth, I know... I just... never thought <em> that </em>symbol would ever inspire hope. Part of me wishes it didn’t, then I would have a reason to rip those jumpsuits a new one.” Abby took a deep breath to reel herself in. “I swear Piper, give me that interview and everyone will view the Institute for what it really is.”</p><p>“What it <em> was </em>, Abby.”</p><p>“You don’t seriously think this benevolent bullshit is for the people of the Commonwealth, right?”</p><p>“What it <em> was. </em> ” Piper leaned in closer and started to use a whisper tone. She was loud and boisterous but when it came to her friends, she knew damn well how to protect them. She put her hands on her dear friend’s shoulders and shook them a little. “We live in the New England Alliance now. the Institute, the Minutemen, they’re <em> divisions </em> now. Divisions of the only real ruling body we’ve had for over <em> two centuries </em>.” The reporter grit her teeth as she spoke. “Two centuries of waiting and you don’t think the Commonwealth’s earned a chance at justice without the guns?”</p><p>"Listen to yourself, you’re one of them! One of your articles was proudly headlined ‘Closing your eyes is easier than bumbling around in the dark.’ Remember those days?"</p><p>“I’m not closing my eyes, Abby. I know what the Institute was, I lived in the horrors it created..." Piper stroked Abby’s shoulder. The latter was still staring at the flag, but the contortions of her face and the stiffness of her body suggested she was getting more emotional. “I know the people they killed... I know the Brotherhood deserved a second chance. But whatever we’ve got goin’ on behind the scenes, we can’t let the public know they blew up good people.” Piper looked a bit somber; above all she valued the releasing of the truth, but she wasn’t just dealing with Mayor McDonough’s disapproval anymore. She had to be more responsible. Abby finally looked away with a salty feeling in her mouth.</p><p>Piper handed over her newspaper for Abby to read. The headline stated boldly:</p><p>
  <b> <em>The Institute: Is It Still ‘The’ Institute?</em> </b>
</p><p>Abby pondered for a moment and sifted through the content quickly. Her face was a little sour at the article's hopeful message, usually a far cry from Piper’s old content, but strangely enough, hope and happiness fit the time they were living in.</p><p>"That aside..." Abby remarked, breaking the tension and hopefully the mood. “I was thinking of new ways to interrogate Takahashi; I have a feeling he can say more than just-”</p><p>Suddenly, a bottle hit the ground and shattered, stopping Abby’s train of thought. </p><p>"Shut the hell up, you little bitch!"</p><p>"HEY!"</p><p>Abby and Piper reflexively turned to see Nat being approached by a boisterous drunk man. The vault dweller briskly walked and put herself between the man and Nat, a familiar stench filling her nose.</p><p>"Ugh... It's a bit early to be this hammered, don’t you think?”</p><p>"Please tell her to shut up,” the man, clearly in a stupor, said condescendingly and with a reckless wobble in stature and tone. “...no one cares about that boring Institute crap! The Brotherhood exploded- big deal!"</p><p>The man stepped forward but Abby put a hand on his chest and pushed him back firmly, setting the early-goer stumbling a few steps. </p><p>"Get your ass home. Don't make me sober you up."</p><p>"Or wha-"</p><p>Abby quickly swung her fist and connected flush to the man's jaw. Abby felt like she went straight through him; she definitely let off some steam with that one. The drunk suddenly fell flat on the latter-rain soil, knocked out. Piper took the initiative and the next step.</p><p>"Security!"</p><p>Nat came out of her little hiding spot and stepped back on her box. "Ugh... thanks Ms. Abby."</p><p>"No problem, Nat.”</p><p>Two Diamond District Security guards came in and picked the man up, no questions asked, almost as if the Wright sisters being assaulted was a common occurrence.</p><p>Abby walked out of the Publick, tossing a cap Nat’s way for the paper in her hand. “I’ll see you guys around, I guess,” she said.</p><p>“Take care, Blue-” Piper put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock as she realized she slipped. Abby adapted quickly though, giving her a confused grin and walking up the ramp out of Diamond District.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Sanctuary Hills, September 17, 2289, 4:12pm</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p><em> The trees are always green in Sanctuary Hills, </em>everyone used to say, and they definitely weren’t wrong. The synthetic trees and grass never wilted away, the old houses and scrap piles that passed for them were gone, reconstructed and renovated with beautiful upper floors, outfitted with luxuries for the NEA’s elite. At the center of it all though, where it stood for over two-hundred years, was the home of Director-General “Handy” Galeone. Once a soldier before the Great War, who got his nickname for clearing a Chinese bunker with a flamethrower in one hand and a laser pistol in the other, like some sort of Mr. Handy. </p><p>He now rarely puts on his fatigues and armor; they lie neatly in a cabinet in his house. No, now he spends his days in front of a terminal, overlooking a map, or some other screen or hologram.</p><p>The sound of keys tapping echoed throughout the large chamber that was the second floor of the Director’s old house. He was writing another automated message to the folks at The Castle: ingenious new technology that was allowed by the successfully installed satellite array the Institute retained in the sky allowed for effective communication over great distances. Of course, if ever those things broke down, no one could really go up there to fix it, space travel was a highly classified old world government project, way above Handy’s former jurisdiction in the army.</p><p>"Heh... maybe next time," he thought aloud. </p><p>“What was that, love?”</p><p>“Hmm? Oh nothing honey.”</p><p>Meanwhile, Cait was lounging about the common area in a clean blue dress and playing around with her husband’s hat, given to him a while back by that Sentry bot they called Ironsides. It had a deep, dapper, and sleek look about it, a far cry from the faded article it once was. Handy’s signature bright blue suit bore a similar tint, and Cait just loved running her fingernails along them.</p><p>
  <em> zzZZzt zzZZzt </em>
</p><p>“Hehehe I love this stuff, why can’t I get something made o’ this?"</p><p>“They’re not easy to come by, hon.”</p><p>"They made some for you, didn't they? I think they can make an exception for the Director's darlin' gal."</p><p>“Mark VI Ballistic Weave isn’t a material you just <em> make </em>. And if I were to commission a set, what kind of leader would I be?”</p><p>"Oi, don't gimme that. I seen ya scrounging in all those places we been to back then; where did all that scrap go?”</p><p>“Tinker Tom, God rest his soul, developed the initial prototypes with recycled ballistic fiber. Emphasis on <em> recycled </em> , had five levels of protection in his blueprints.” Cait made mocking faces as he continued. “The Mark <em> VI </em> weave requires synthetic Institute-developed materials that are modified at the <em> molecular </em>level. I would have to divert all of Advanced Systems’ efforts and resources for weeks to create a single jacket, and I already have a full outfit."</p><p>Cait pouted at his incredibly reasonable and detailed, very Institute-like response. </p><p>“Gosh I get it,” she sighed. “I just wanted to-” </p><p>Handy raised an eyebrow as she trailed off and immediately realized what she meant. He put on a teasing tone and turned his chair toward her. </p><p>"Oh. I mean I can absolutely requisition the most complicated and tedious materials for the most tedious process of making armor the world has ever known as long as it's for my lovely wife, right?”</p><p>Cait pouted again, ever since his son passed away, her husband listened extensively to Father’s old holotapes. He inadvertently acquired his accent and accidentally began combining it with the one always coming out of her. The result was this butchered but still somehow honey-smooth tone. <em> Especially </em>when he mocked her.</p><p>"You... <em> really </em> know how to tug on me heartstrings."</p><p>Handy turned back to his work. “I didn’t do much at all, you just liked watching me change.” </p><p>At that, Cait’s jaw fell and she picked up a pillow from the couch she sat on. She strode with a vengeance towards Handy and threw his hat at him, but he caught it out of his peripheral vision. He didn’t see the pillow coming from the other side, though.</p><p>"Agh! <em> That </em>was not fair."</p><p>"You don't get to call that after saying whatcha did!" Cait smiled sheepishly, bearing the feeling of having won this playful marital melee.</p><p>To her amusement though, Handy put on his hat (he always looked good in that hat) and took off the Pip-Boy on his arm, rubbing the spot it was on. </p><p>“If you want fair, hon, I’ll give you fair.” Handy took off his glasses and wedding ring and stood up. He was slender in frame, but his slim silhouette, trimmed off the edges by the harsh living conditions of the wasteland, hid muscles refined by years of warfighting. He rolled his lips, accentuating his one-of-a-kind handlebar mustache, and licked his lips in excitement.</p><p> “You’ll just have to pay the wasteland’s price... knock my hat off, and you got it.”</p><p>Cait stared at her husband mockingly. “A hundred fights undefeated, love.” the brawler woman cracked her knuckles and bent her neck left and right with audible clicks. “I’ll knock your goddamn head off.”</p><p>Suddenly, a notification on Handy’s discarded Pip-Boy made it blink blue. Cait grumbled. She had been thwarted once again by the powers that be. Handy grinned and turned around, walking back to the device and tapping on it. <em> Touchscreen, </em> he thought. <em> Such a good idea.  </em></p><p>"Better luck next time, hon. Got business to attend to.”</p><p>Cait let out an audible hmph before Handy tapped on his screen. A little flash was heard and Handy was enveloped in blue light for an instant before he vanished completely, leaving his wife shaking her head.</p><p> </p><p>A familiar whir was heard in the SPB, the Settlement Protection Bureau, and Director Handy relayed in. He wasted no time and briskly walked to the screen-laden intel monitoring room. “What news?”</p><p>“We found them, Director.”</p><p>“Details, Dr. Ayo. Gunners, raiders, spies?” The dapper Director pored over the screens as if in a hurry.</p><p>“The Brotherhood of Steel, sir.”</p><p>Handy looked over his shoulder in disbelief. “The Brotherhood of Steel? No…” Handy turned to face the division head directly. “You’re not telling me that ‘optimistic glitch’ intel was actually correct, are you?”</p><p>Dr. Justin Ayo looked down in slight embarrassment, it was him who shot down the notion of the long-dead Sarah Lyons being spotted somewhere in the Commonwealth, back when the jarring intel was first reported by a decrepit Gen 2 synth on patrol.</p><p>Handy spoke again. "You're absolutely sure it's Lyons?"</p><p>"I-I wouldn't make the same mistake twice, Director."</p><p>Handy glared at him, it was another case of Justin Ayo playing safe with his ego. Another ping went off on the Director’s personal computer and he observed it for a moment before beginning to walk out. “Tell X5-33 and X6-88 to be ready for mobilization. I’m requested in Advanced Systems.”</p><p>“Yes, Director.”</p><p>Handy made briskly out of the SPB and past the courteous half-bows of passing synths and scientists to Advanced Systems. As he entered, the spritely Dr. Orman greeted him with a familiar greeting. “Good day, Director! You would not believe what we’ve got for you today.” </p><p>Handy smiled somewhat dismissively, he’s sure heard that before. Rosalind led him past the main hall towards the weapon testing range, where she dismissed two Gen 1 synths testing standard Institute rifles. </p><p>“So, we’ve been working on the terrestrial fusion rounds like you requested, but what we found was that they wouldn’t fire properly from standard firearm receivers like we’d hoped. Too fast, too much recoil to the left, etc… These things,” Rosalind picked up an Alien Blaster Round, a top secret asset procured by Handy himself in some lonesome cave. “They're just not meant to fire out of ballistic guns.”</p><p>“Mhm..” Handy half-pretended to be interested, Advanced Systems was probably the most bored department of the Institute since there weren’t too many systems they hadn’t already advanced within the first six months of Handy becoming Director. They were used to working fast, and since materials were so freely acquired during these days of relative peace, they worked almost too fast.</p><p>“Anyway,” Rosalind continued, "we did have a breakthrough with our 9mm variant. It still doesn’t fire too well out of a standard 10mm pistol because well, it’s a 9mm, but on our custom receiver we had some... interesting results.”</p><p>“Like?”</p><p>“Increased bullet velocity, lower recoil, the fused energy in the ball-point seemed to make it... like an instant death button. It’s mad accurate, almost too accurate.”</p><p>A switch seemed to flip in Handy's brain. <em> Well well well, a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one, </em> he thought to himself.</p><p>“I know you said we can’t be mass-producing any new weapons, but this breakthrough was just too good that I..."</p><p>"Don't worry about it. This is just the progress we want."</p><p>Rosalind’s eyes lit up. She stepped to her side and motioned towards a... white... safe box? “Ta-da!”</p><p>Handy afforded a smile but was visibly confused. Rosalind on the other hand, was giggling. “I’m sorry I don’t quite..."</p><p>“Here.” Rosalind grabbed Handy’s Pip-Boy and went into developer mode. It required a voice activation and she held the wrist-mounted computer up for the Director to provide it. “Override: Delta Riser niner two niner.” Rosalind imputed lines of code she memorized (because of course she did) and turned the computer back into standard mode.</p><p>“There we go! Tap on the gun icon right there.”</p><p>Handy located the correct icon and pressed it. All of a sudden three lights on the box in front of him lit up, and a holographic model of the Director’s signature pistol projected from the Pip-Boy. Handy looked over at Rosalind nervously, but she had a wide smile and motioned for him to continue.</p><p>Handy grabbed the hologram and the box in front of him vibrated almost violently. Handy flinched backward, but felt his right hand grip onto something solid. He looked down and saw Tommy Whispers’ old pistol, the Deliverer, in his hands; long barrel, extended magazine, everything he remembered modifying it with, but with a sleek, glossy black exterior.</p><p>“It’s an all-new model, we went for a mold of the Walther PPK/S instead of the PPK, and it’s the only gun in the world that can fire our prototype 9mm f-Terrestrial properly. You’ll find all your preferred modifications integrated and performance highly enhanced. And best of all, an integrated relay chip that transports it to this impenetrable safe-box at will.”</p><p>Handy stared at the weapon in awe. Even the minor details like the engravings on the side of the gun were all-new: the Institute logo replaced the Walther logo, and the design specs were all correct. Handy looked at the printed text on the side of the firearm. “Rosalind Orman Institute AS, Exp. Model 19-A Cal. 9mm f-Ter.” Handy unscrewed the silencer and pulled the priming handle forward. He felt the mechanisms give and pulled the top off to view the internals. “Very nice, very nice indeed… Now- How did you get the schematics of the PPK/S?”</p><p>“Well one of our scavenger teams picked up a deactivated model in a museum and brought it back to contribute to this project. As you can see it’s a success.”</p><p>“Yes, very good.” Handy flipped the fine weapon and checked every angle of it. He understood why even a synth scavenger would not immediately dispose of such a beauty.</p><p>“It’s currently under the designation Experiment 19-A as you've read. But the test team and I just call it God’s Deliverance.”</p><p>Handy looked up again, this time with a knowing grin. “<em> God’s </em>Deliverance? Since when did the Institute dabble in religion?”</p><p>“I’ve been reading some books coming in from Harvard,” Rosalind smiled sheepishly. “It’s some mumbo jumbo sometimes but it’s such an <em> interesting </em> part of history. Plus the name you know? Deliverer, Deliverance…” Rosalind made weighing motions with her hands. </p><p>Handy nodded slowly. “God’s Deliverance... I like it.” Handy reassembled the firearm and his look suddenly intensified. He turned his eyes down range and saw it ready for a little test run. He took a breath right as he pointed down range and dispatched the holographic targets before him with swiftness and ease. A new set of targets appeared, and some of them moved. They were dealt with almost as soon as the appeared, and so were the rest of the waves.</p><p><em> Clipclipclip- clipclip- clipclipclipcilp... </em> Handy all of a sudden got a feel for how a PPK was supposed to fire as he finished the course and looked at the scoreboard as his run finished. Apparently, he already held the top spot on the course leaderboards, but his first place record was pushed down for an even newer first place record, set by him again just now. Handy looked a tad impressed, looking at the time comparisons and back at the gun. <em> How’s third place X6? </em>He thought to himself with a grin.</p><p>“Thank you Dr Orman. It’s a great gift.” He said as he looked the weapon over in admiration once more.</p><p>“I’ll continue the research like you wanted. This is just the first step, but it’s a great one in your hands, Director.”</p><p>Handy tipped his hat and pressed the icon on his Pip-Boy again, relaying the gun back into the box with a loud noise as he walked out of Advanced Systems. Innovation was rudimentary in the new Institute, what with everyone now focused on making practical ways of making life above ground better. </p><p>Handy walked out of the department to continue his rounds around the rest of the Institute. Things never looked brighter, and in no time since long before the bombs fell, was darkness ever so scarce.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Another Night That Changed The World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Quincy Ruins, September 22, 2289, 7:49pm</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The hell is taking him so long? It’s been almost fifteen fuckin’ minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Him? Jimmy’s always takin’ his sweet time. Probably wanted to take a shit while he was at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gunner turned around from the window, an unlit cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth and the dim candle light casting his shadow on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell him to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the f-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gunner immediately found himself staring down the barrel of a modified 10mm handgun, and a person clad in a full red-visored face mask, black jumpsuit and matching combat armor. In his panic, he managed to note dark brown hair tied in a bun and the bodily features of a woman. The two people in the room with him were down on the ground in a small pool of blood, still alive but bound to die soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-who the hell are-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure you’re in the position to be asking questions.” The woman remarks. “But since you’re being so cooperative, call me </span>
  <em>
    <span>Darling</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That name… he recognized that name. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” The man’s heart skipped a beat and he gulped heavily, sweat beading down his forehead like a coursing river. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Now that we know each other, down to business. All you need to know is if you move, you’re toast. If you so much as place a finger on that distress pulser, I’m putting a bullet in your eye socket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man shook in his boots, terrified at the sight and implications. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just who the hell is she? How’d she get through all the boys? Where the hell is Jimmy?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will, however, let you finish your smoke... Just answer some questions, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I g-guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gunner hesitantly put a lighter to his mouth and cupped his hands around it. The woman took a few steps back and leaned against a nearby wall.</span>
</p><p><span>“So why rough up some rich Diamond District prick? Who sent you?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Some other rich-ass in the city... I- it was easy money”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Was it a coincidence that on the night you paid Ann Codman a visit, some poor vagrant was found beaten half to death on the upper stands?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about the fact that some bourgeois Mr. Handy was found in a pile of its own scrap?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-he was pissin’ me the hell off..." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh... you and me both</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Darling thought to herself. “That aside, hand over that pulser; wouldn’t want your friends from outside of Quincy coming in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-backup just for one merc?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The terrified gunner handed over the pulser to the woman; watching in defeat as she threw it into the ground; falling apart and making some sparks. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man run to the building. It wasn’t much, but his backup had just arrived. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuckin’ Jimmy and his tardy ass... </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey... uh have you seen Jimmy?” The hostage asked the merc.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the door to the room swung wide open and a man barged in with a knife in hand. “The fuck is goin’ on here?!” he shouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get the bitch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy ran towards the woman against the wall and the hostage gunner suddenly lunged for his .44 on the table. He tried to point it at the woman but-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BANG!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“GAHHH! FUCK!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dropping his gun in pain and staring at the hole in his hand, Darling took the opportunity and slammed a right side kick to his face, which hit him square and broke his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy hesitated midway and averted his eyes, having been startled by the muzzle flash and the sudden scream of pain. When he had regained his composure, he charged and switched his knife grip to reverse. He attempted to stab the mercenary from a downward angle but to his chagrin, he suddenly felt his left wrist being wrenched, forcing him to drop his knife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“AGH!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy attempted to punch the woman with his free hand but she intercepted with a quick knee to the gut; knocking the wind out of him. Suddenly, he felt a forearm clothsline him across the throat and his feet being swept from under him. He fell flat on the ground, landing head-first. The woman kept a hold on his arm and forcefully put her foot on his windpipe, applying steady pressure but not enough to choke him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You Jimmy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah... w-who’s askin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just curious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman stared a hole straight through him. There was enough commotion now that she could hear the other gunners rushing over to see what had happened. It wasn’t safe for her, she had to take the next step. Suddenly, she put a finger to her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All done. Bringing them down.” She looked at Jimmy and his partner to assess their state. “Alright gentlemen, we’re moving out.” She picked the two up and prodded their weakened selves at gunpoint outside Quincy Church. Just outside the church, they noticed three more of their comrades knocked out and slumped against the church entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy scoffed. “Move out huh? The rest are gonna fuck you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” she said cockily, “You might wanna cover your ears then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of a sudden, several white, futuristic-looking vertibirds decloaked and projected spotlights on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go! Go! Go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rear hatches on the vertibirds opened and figures in pure white power armor jumped down, living up to their designations as shock troopers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move out move out!” light filled the upper highway overlooking the town, blue and red beams shot out towards each other, and the blue beams eventually outnumbered the red before they ceased entirely. Next, footsteps surrounded the merc and her prisoners as the air rifted around them, followed by a familiar and terrible sight: Gen 2 Synth Troopers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Screaming and gunfire filled the air. Jimmy looked back and saw a blinding suit of T-45a under a spotlight, firing a laser shotgun into a group of entrenched gunners before a couple Coursers (the rifts in the air) uncloaked and buried fusion energy into them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The merc poked Jimmy’s back as he slowed down. He promptly continued walking away from the scene along with his buddy. Their heads were both down as if it were they who were being fired upon. “So what was that about fucking me up?” Darling remarked slyly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hahh... I get it, jeez.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A figure in a blue trench coat and a tricorne hat walked towards Darling, flanked by a couple more synths: the local Minuteman sergeant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll take it from here, merc, here’s your pay.” The sarge tossed Darling a bag of Institute coins minted with the symbol of the Vitruvian Man. She weighed it in her hand and pushed the two men towards the synths, who promptly restrained them and took them God knows where, never to be seen again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh and there’s two more upstairs plus the three behind us.”  says Darling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five more, huh? Eh, here ya go.” The sarge reaches back into his jacket and pulled out a smaller bag to toss her way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Much obliged,” she replied, proceeding to make her way as far away from the gunfight as possible. But just before leaving the scene, she turned to the sarge, took off her earpiece, and handed it over to the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if you were told, but you can keep that, you know?” the man said with some confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” She smugly said as she turned away and made her way westward. The noises from the warzone grew to be somewhat quiet, the sounds of lasers and gunfire turning into muffled fireworks once she got some distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Time to turn in, I guess. I can get the other reward from Codman tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darling stretched a little bit to ease her tense joints and pulled out her Pip-Pad to mark her destination.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Brotherhood Splinter Bunker, 9:45pm</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Coming in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mercenary announced as she opened the door to the bunker. She was greeted by a blonde woman conversing with two wastelanders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Abby. Hold on a sec.” the woman said as she turned to the wastelanders. Abby did so, proceeding to lean against the wall beside the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here you go.” Sarah spoke benevolently as she handed over a box of medical supplies to the teenage boy. “This should be enough to treat your father. Our doctor says he should be better in about a week with regular doses. If his symptoms get worse or something else happens, bring him here, okay?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you so much, Elder Lyons.” The slightly older girl said, while her brother carrying the box nodded nervously. The pair then left without saying a word. Abby shifted from her leaning position from the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The whole Mother Teresa act suits you,” Abby teased once they were gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was actually thinking of renaming this splinter into the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Living Saints</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What do you think?” Sarah Lyons, Elder of the Brotherhood of Gold and Steel (at least she was for a day) joked, still putting boxes in their place under the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, I hate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even more than..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even more than </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lyons’ Pride.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah sighed in amusement. She was in her usual working outfit (sleeveless military fatigues), a little wrinkled and dirty from a hard days’ work helping her splinter group get by. She dusted her hands off and leaned against the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Sarah said with a little heave. “How’d it go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing to it, really; get in, hit some guys, call in the big guns and somehow all of Quincy has been liberated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Liberate </span>
  </em>
  <span>implies the Gunners owned Quincy in the first place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If not then I guess we just evicted some squatters.” Abby started making her way downstairs, the Elder in tow. The latter pulled her ponytail holder out and shook her hair free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything new happen while I was away?” Abby asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing really- well... you mentioned the Pride.” Sarah tapped her chin playfully. “They've been pretty lonely without their CO.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can imagine.” Abby replied in a deadpan manner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having no actual members in it must be pretty lonely for you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The title works for my resume. Though I can’t see myself beating a bunch of newbies into shape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>know those hypothetical members would only be in the Pride if they were half as good as you, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two make it into the shared quarters. Sarah propped herself against the door frame while Abby went in to dress out of her highly specialized combat get-up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must be pretty kick-ass to have your gear.” Sarah commented. She always was a tad jealous of the bolder wastelanders, they usually did get really good gear just lying around waiting to be picked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The wonders of wasteland looting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure you can get your hands on a prototype vault suit by just </span>
  <em>
    <span>looting</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby chuckled and eventually dressed down into her casual wear: a white tank top covered by a faded, open flannel long-sleeve complimented by jeans and boots. She then released her hair from her tight bun, dark brown hair cascading down to her elbows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing that she was finished transforming from her death machine state, Sarah beckoned “You up for some pool?” She pointed to the tables behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking of taking a stroll outside, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah looked up to her right, pondering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm... sure, why not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Outside? A middle-aged man’s voice chimed in as Finley passed on his way to guard duty. “...where all those ferals and super mutants and overall villains are? Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>get tired of it all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it, Finley. I do this all the time.” Abby replied dismissively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do all you pre-war types like taking these ‘outdoor strolls?’” Sarah whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two women made their way outside the quarters and walked through the swanky buker. Abby replied: “I heard some stories from 2020 when no one was allowed to. Since then, well, yeah I think you can say that.” Sarah chuckled softly at the statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their jolly pace was slowed as they finally arrived at the bunker door, guarded by the aforementioned Finley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry. We’ll be good.” Sarah told Chuck, who let out a defeated sigh in return. He’d had many arguments with the Elder regarding her safety, and he didn’t exactly have a positive win rate. So this time, he saved himself the time and misery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ahh, go ahead,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Chuck.” Sarah replied with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh hold up.” Abby put her hand up and rushed back into her room. After a moment of waiting, she reemerged with a .44 magnum strapped to her hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel better now Finley?” Abby called out Chuck and pointed to her hip, who responded with a chuckle and an eye roll. The two women walked outside the bunker; it was a strange time for a walk, but nighttime was sometimes just as safe, if not safer than the day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That being said, as soon as the doors were closed and secured, though, something entered their field of vision: a blinding light. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Abby’s mind went into action mode. The bunker door had been sealed behind them, and it took some time to open anyway. Besides, there were good people in there that Abby swore to protect, she wouldn’t expose them to danger, not while she could still fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When their eyes recovered, the two saw a man in a blue suit and tall hat flanked by two black-clad gentlemen a little over ten feet in front of them. In a hyper-reflexive move, Abby reached for her .44 and pointed it at the man in the middle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Abby, no!” Sarah shouted as she tried to restrain her subordinate, but it was too late. Abby fired two rounds square on the man’s chest and shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy stumbled backwards and was caught by his oddly docile Coursers as he tried to catch his breath. He grunted the shock away and straightened back up, unscathed. A firm pull to straighten his jacket and the Director was standing straight up again like he wasn’t just shot at point-blank range.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Sarah gave Abby a death stare while Abby’s eyes displayed nothing but silent panic. This subtle communication, as well as Sarah holding the .44’s barrel straight towards her own gut calmed Abby down as they turned to face the NEA’s leader. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Abby thought to herself in resignation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is the end of the line.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry... Not exactly used to being surprised in the middle of the night." Abby said out loud somewhat nervously. She wasn’t looking at anyone other than Sarah.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, no need to apologize, I’ve been in the army, reacted very similarly.” Handy laughed, immediately doing away with the hostile atmosphere and replacing it with an almost comedic one. His presence seemed to fill the rest of the open space, as if he himself was the Commonwealth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s more persuasive than people said,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Abby thought, and she recognized it very well. It took a charmer to know one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Director-General Galeone. My apologies! Please, we don’t want any trouble, my friend was just a little jumpy.” Sarah exclaimed as she tried to contain her shock with a half-bow. Abby did the same with obvious nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Director received the greeting with a bow himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sarah Lyons... I apologize for the invasion of your time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah immediately shot back up. She was recognized! He knew who she was! This was bad. Really bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I followed you and your father’s work back in DC. I can assure you despite our differences with the Brotherhood, you are no enemy to me or the Alliance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wave of relief suddenly took over both Sarah and Abby, and the both of them visibly relaxed. Sarah took a look at the Coursers guarding their leader. It was a rare thing seeing Coursers this close and not being dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby did the same and remarked. “Well, if we were... I guess they would’ve blasted my head off.” Abby replied, pointing with her chin towards the statue-still Coursers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. But with what we know they wouldn’t just shoot at wasteland royalty."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m... sorry?” Sarah inquired respectfully. “Like I said, we investigate your file very thoroughly. And frankly all I can really say is…” Handy straightened up and brought his right fist to his heart. “Ad victoriam, Elder.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Inside the bunker.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The looks on the guards’ faces were priceless as Sarah and Abby returned from their relatively short walk with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Director-General of the New England Alliance</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The Coursers secured the tension in the room until Handy raised his voice a little to address the people inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will not detain you very long, ladies and gentlemen. If you are confused at my being here, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Handy Galeone, Director of the Institute and General of The Minutemen. I am here to state simply that there is no need to hide. You are welcome here in the Alliance.” Silence was the reply, and Handy took that as the cue to continue. “I know the Institute has had differences with Elder Maxson and the Brotherhood of Steel the past few years, but if you will have us, we would love to amend this relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Brotherhood wasn’t Maxson’s when you blew the Prydwen out of the sky.” Ash shot up aggressively with arms crossed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash... At least let him explain everything first.” Jesse replied, trying to ease the tense atmosphere and avoid any potential bloodshed. He would not have a fight on his hands if Coursers were involved. Nobody in the bunker would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Ash.” His father, Chuck, gave him a soft smile and a nod. “If they really wanted to blow us to hell, they probably would’ve followed through after the Prydwen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ash looked back and forth between all his comrades. He made eye contact with Shannon, who just nervously looked back down and mopped a portion of the floor she already attended to. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seems like I’m the odd one out here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Finally, Ash looked up to the Director after a few seconds of deliberation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. We’ll hear you out.” Ash resigned, greeted with a warm smile from his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy sighed. “I’m sure all of you know the Institute’s tendency to keep secrets. We don’t do that anymore, and before any of you find out the hard way at a later juncture at which point it will be more harmful, I will divulge this: It was I who infilitrated Mass Fusion and led the charge for the Beryllium Agitator. I broke into Boston Airport and lowered the shields, I escorted the synth that installed the virus on Liberty Prime..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Director let that sink in for a while, and he could feel the minds of the people around them going for their mental guns.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“</b>
  <span>How did you develop that virus? Something to take control of Liberty Prime isn’t something you can just find.” Fiona broke the silence with her unusual enthusiasm and even worse timing. She sounded almost giddy that she met the people responsible for hacking the most dangerous war machine in the Commonwealth. The rest of the Brotherhood fell silent, almost as if they were resigning themselves to this uneasy mood and just letting them be taken by the flow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The virus... was developed by the head of our Advanced Systems department. Dr. Madison Li..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Small gasps were heard around the bunker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that’s where she ended up…” Sarah said to herself softly as she bit the skin on her finger, and despite trying her best to be quiet, she was heard by the Director nonetheless. Abby still remained willfully silent with a cold glare directed towards the emotionless Coursers. They were ordered not to engage, but orders could change in the blink of an eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two people in the back of the crowd, Jesse and Madeleine, were seen whispering. Them being scribes, they found this to be particularly interesting news. Handy observed the commotion and found the need to get the conversation back on track. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With that said, I know of the differences the Brotherhood had within itself years ago. I know of the plot to assassinate Elder Sarah Lyons and exterminate the Pride. Elder Owyn Lyons was a good man, and a competent commander; as far as I’m concerned, The NEA is chasing his shadow to realize his vision.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy took his hat off and took it to his heart. “It sounds ironic… The Brotherhood has done many things called a sin, but the Institute has greater blots on its ledger... blots I hope we can at least try to atone for today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Brotherhood whispered among themselves; uncertainty, anxiety, distrust, all of these feelings and resentments circulated the room like a bad virus. Abby coughed loudly, as if begging for the attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanted to say something, Elder Lyons?” She said, shooting a deadpan smirk towards Sarah. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You do know these people look up to you, right? They’ll trust your judgement</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Abby’s eyes told Sarah everything she thought, and she agreed. With the signal, Sarah composed herself, made her decision, and faced the Director.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Director Galeone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” Handy’s military training nearly kicked in and he fought the urge to stand at attention. His mind registered Sarah as a leader, and his instincts did the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How does dinner with everyone sound to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No gasps were heard, but one could definitely hear the tension turn into confusion. Abby herself was distraught. She expected an immediate display of rejection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That... would be lovely, Elder. Such a kindness isn’t found so easily in the Wasteland.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The NEA is no wasteland thanks to you,” she flattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy smiled and handed his hat to X6 before being led to the bar, where a repurposed assaultron prepared hot meals for Sarah, Abby, Handy, and a couple others who occupied the surrounding seats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a bit awkward, but the smell of the grilled radstag seemed to lift everyone’s spirits as they prepared to dig in. Handy was seated to Sarah’s right, and he smiled courteously before something caught his eye further down the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby was staring at her food, hands clasped, but her trance was broken with a quick sign of the cross.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy was shocked into stillness. No one, literally no one except himself made the sign of the cross in all the wasteland, not even the ghouls, whose minds were overtaken by new things as the decades turned into centuries. Every religious text Handy encountered was damaged or ruined beyond comprehension, and his knowledge of the Bible was limited to some key verses he memorized during his more desperate times in the army. But even with his textual knowledge so limited, compared to Pastor Clements in Diamond District, Handy seemed like a prophet, simply because he grew up formed by his catechism and went to church on Sundays to hear sermons taken straight from the Word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So as one would expect, he stared almost rudely at Abby and was only snapped out when she turned her head in his direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that point, as if to recover, Handy made the sign of the cross himself to give thanks for the meal. Abby took notice as he prayed and crossed himself again, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped slightly as she realized that she screwed up, and as she began partaking of the radstag in front of her she prayed once more, this time with the hope that the Director didn’t properly interpret her action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to see culture hasn’t completely left this planet. I thought I was the only one,” Handy said with his eyes facing Abby. She shot back with a wry smile. She had been found out, but she wasn’t going down so easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No offence, but I didn’t really take you for the religious type,” he continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t call it religion.” Abby took a bite out of her radstag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy began to dig into his food as well. The normally charming and easygoing Handy was hesitant to strike up a conversation with the mercenary across the table; he was definitely curious about her but at the same time, somewhat intimidated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like he didn’t have a reason to be on the fence. From their first meeting, he saw that this person was rather difficult: cold, and dismissive. The first thing she did upon seeing him was shoot- twice! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come to think of it, only someone with longtime firearm experience could unload a .44 like that. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to poke at </span>
  <em>
    <span>old </span>
  </em>
  <span>wounds, but where’d you learn to shoot like that?” Handy inquired playfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“Law school. Texas was a weird place,” Abby replied nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Texas?” Handy internally gasped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s... pre-war?</span>
  </em>
  <span>! No one on the East Coast referred to Texas as ‘Texas’ on instinct unless they either travelled there or grew up there. “When did you travel to Texas? That place is brutal and barren.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah took a sip of Gwinnett, pretending not to mind along with the rest of the bunker. Everything about this exchange was equal parts tense and exciting. Abby chuckled at the Director’s comment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would disagree with you, but I really can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember there being a law school that teaches you how to infiltrate and take down a squad of trained mercenaries with your bare hands... in Texas. At least not in the 23rd century.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if that fact wasn’t obvious enough. Abby knew the man she was talking to was no dumb Army grunt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s the Director of the Institute for crying out loud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She knew she might not be able to play dumb against this man but she also would rather not divulge any details of her interesting history.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be pretty well-travelled to come all the way here from all the way there.” Handy prodded further. “If I may, where did you grow up? I’m new to the wasteland, I hope you can educate me on it a bit more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abby began thinking up an alibi that she was with Elder Owyn Lyons when he first set out to the Capital Wasteland in 2254, but the years didn’t line up now that she ‘attended a law school in Texas.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lie as little as possible</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Law school </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a joke from where I grew up; something I always tell people. I heard it from a friend who used to scavenge around and about. Apparently, he came across this big old building called ‘Texas A&amp;M University’ or something. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Law school </span>
  </em>
  <span>stuck to him for some reason so it just became a weird joke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Only two lies in that statement. A&amp;M was a law school, right? The one time it would’ve been useful to remember that fact... he seems convinced enough, though.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy seemed to relax. “Ahh, I see, I see. And where did you grow up before coming to the Commonwealth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m from Texas but eventually ended up here.  I came as a mercenary and eventually met up with Elder Lyons over here. Somewhere along the line I, as you said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>learned how to infiltrate and take down a squad of trained mercenaries with my bare hands</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah took a quick sip of her drink and looked away, clearly pretending she didn’t hear that alibi. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dammit, Lyons... </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny, you don’t have the drawl,” Handy commented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not every Texan is a hillbilly rancher. It slips every now and then, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh... guess you’re right.” And Abby was safe for now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something tells me he’s gonna come back with the questions. He could just be playing dumb, but there’s something about his constant grin that just seems... empty.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She made a note to make up a better alibi for herself later on, but for now she was just glad the inquisition was over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy turned his attention and reflected his tone back to Sarah, who was preoccupied with her meal or so it seemed. “You’ll have to excuse me, Elder, it’s not everyday I meet other wastelanders with unique perspectives from outside the Commonwealth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can understand,” Sarah replied, quickly picking up the conversation. “Although... I haven’t met anyone quite like you either, Director,” she said with a slightly smitten tone, probably to make it up to Abby for not helping her with her cover story. It did its job in catching Handy’s attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daughter of The Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, thirty-six years old, close friend to its would-be Elder, forced into hiding, eventually setting up camp right outside the Commonwealth, miles away from your old home, and you haven’t met a man like me? I find that a little hard to believe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Son of people whose names are legitimately lost to time, father of... Father, over two-centuries old, and witnessed the bombs fall, I think I would be justified,” Sarah chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Touché,” Handy said, raising his own bottle of Gwinnett and taking a swig. As he did, Sarah glanced nervously to Abby, as if seeking refuge. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Texan </span>
  </em>
  <span>just smiled and took another swig of her drink, almost as if silently nodding in approval.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soo... sorry to make it all about business now but what exactly can we do for the NEA?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy finished drinking without hurry and set the bottle down, composing himself. “The details of a partnership can be hammered out at a later date, but for now, feel free to embrace the NEA as your home, once we meet about a partnership, we’ll have a formal declaration and maybe even a parade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Despite your efforts for them, I can’t speak for how the people of the Commonwealth would react to an Institute-led parade. Even if we're just talking about a minority. At the very least, they’re skeptical, and at the worst, they’re absolutely terrified.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The NEA isn’t about controlling the people’s perception as much as it is helping them. If they have old wounds the Institute caused that we can’t heal, then so be it. But we want to try healing them as much as we can. Maybe they’ll never like us, but I’m fine with that as long as they live the lives they’ve earned well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How noble of you..." Sarah remarked, letting herself stare for a little, perhaps to put the Director on edge even further, although he hardly seemed fazed. Here was a man that convinced the people of the Commonwealth that the Institute could help them and vice versa; he was used to being rejected, used to it enough that he never let it affect what he thought was right. Sarah and Abby could see the conviction from this man’s eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If anything, he definitely believes in his cause,</span>
  </em>
  <span> they thought in unison, ...</span>
  <em>
    <span>believes in it enough to come to a Brotherhood bunker unarmed with Coursers ordered not to open fire. He was either a visionary, or just as mad as the rest of them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As the night progressed, nothing much really unfolded, hours passed without anyone noticing from inside the bunker, but when everyone had finished their meals, Handy stood up, prompting everyone else to do so as well. “Well, Elder Lyons, members of the Brotherhood, it has been such a pleasure breaking bread with you today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it has been our pleasure having you, Director,” Sarah said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy grabbed hold of his beer once more, only a little left in it. “To the brotherhood! And to those who have fallen... to those who deserved to stand here with us today, ad Victoriam!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ad Victoriam!” Everyone repeated (save for Abby) and raised their drinks to drink heartily. Abby only took a sip, still feeling uneasy at the whole thing. Sure, being in the NEA’s good graces was a good thing, public recognition and practice was even better, but something definitely seemed... off. The Director </span>
  <em>
    <span>seemed</span>
  </em>
  <span> well-intentioned, but he was also a brilliant diplomat, this wasn’t him just patching up the bullet holes he had created, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s gotta be something more.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Newer Normal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b> <em>Directorate Meeting Room, the Institute, September 29, 2289, 9:12am </em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>“The Directorate calls this meeting to order, if we can move then with the first item on the agenda, the approval of minutes from our meeting last September 19th, 2289,” Dr. Allie Filmore, the chief assistant to the Director said, moderating as usual. The members of the Directorate looked at the clipboards in front of them, reviewing each item and making sure it was accurate.</p><p>“Seconded,” said Dr. Ayo.</p><p>“Seconded,” this time from Dr. Li.</p><p>“Seconded,” from Dr. Holdren.</p><p>“Seconded,” said Dr. Binet.</p><p>“Seconded,” Handy continued the chain, a somewhat softer tone as he leaned back, fiddling with his twirled-up mustache.</p><p>“Seconded,” said Brig. General Garvey.</p><p>“And seconded,” said the newest member of the Directorate, Dr. Curie.</p><p>“The motion has been moved and seconded, moving then ladies and gentlemen to the second item on the agenda, I give the floor to Dr. Li.”</p><p>“Thank you Dr. Filmore. Advanced Systems wishes to report the latest development on the fusion-Terrestrial anti-armor ammunition project. A particular breakthrough has been achieved with the 10mm variant, as the bullet casing and fusion payload located inside the hollow-point have been properly calibrated, as one will see with this test result.” A hologram projector in the center of the long table lit up to life with a holo of a synth shooting a very crude-looking gun at a standard T-51b Power Armor chest piece. The bullet bounced right off, but the energy payload it carried opened a visible hole on the armor. The rest of the directorate nodded. “Of course, the ammunition is still incompatible with standard pre and post-war ballistic firearms, but it’s proved very effective with our prototype.” The holo-projector came to life once more, this time with footage of Handy beating the firing range record with God’s Deliverance. The footage sent everyone grinning towards the Director, who smirked and gave them a shrug.</p><p>“In creating this one-of-a-kind prototype for the Director however, Dr. Orman and I have stumbled upon new technology that could potentially change the way we deal ordnance.” The holo shifted once more to footage of Handy summoning the pistol from his Pip-Boy, which drew gasps and closer looks from the department heads.</p><p>“Now <em> that’s </em>a way to conceal a weapon,” Preston whistled, turning his eyes to Handy. “General? I suppose you don’t mind if you..."</p><p>The rest of the directorate turned their eyes to the head of the table expectantly, and Handy obliged. He unlocked his Pip-Boy, pressed the icon and grabbed the projected hologram. A flash emanated, slightly shocking the people around. But when it was gone. There was God’s Deliverance there in front of them; Handy removed the magazine and set it down on the table to show that it was in fact real.</p><p>“That’s some impressive work, Dr. Li,” Preston said.</p><p>“Thank you, General Garvey.”</p><p>“And General, that’s a hell of a hand-cannon you got.”</p><p>Handy reattached the magazine and relayed it back into the safe box relocated in the Director’s quarters. “Again, all the credit goes to Dr. Li and her department.”</p><p>“That concludes my report,” Madison said to Dr. Filmore.</p><p>“Thank you, Dr. Li. Moving on to the next item, I now give the floor to Dr. Justin Ayo.”</p><p>“Thank you. The SPB wishes to report a successful contact established by our Director,” he motioned towards Handy, “and a splinter group of the Brotherhood of Steel, exactly one week ago today.”</p><p>People in the room gasped and were generally surprised. “I thought the intel was a glitch from a decrepit synth?” Dr. Holdren chimed.</p><p>“We were proven wrong upon further reconnaissance of the southwest region of the Commonwealth, and we were able to track a particularly skilled mercenary who went by ‘Darling’  to a particularly large bunker, other settlers were seen coming to and from this bunker that matched our old files on potential Brotherhood infiltrators. What we managed to find back when Elder Maxson was pulling the strings was that they were in hiding from the main Brotherhood of Steel Chapter, possibly dissidents or malcontents. What we now know is that they are headed by Elder Sarah Lyons, daughter of the late Owyn Lyons, and from our contacts in the Capital Wasteland, previously presumed dead. Another caveat, ladies and gentlemen, is that at the time of Operation Airship Down, Sarah Lyons had assumed command of the Brotherhood of Steel.”</p><p>Madison Li stirred in her seat and took a deep breath. Handy made a note of it and let the meeting continue as he took over the report.</p><p>“Elder Lyons is alive. And with our contact meeting last week, we have confirmation that her Brotherhood has no interest in the extermination of synths. This new Brotherhood is very much like her father’s in that it put the well-being of the people as a primary concern... as opposed to Elder Maxson’s... crusade.” </p><p>Dr. Curie visibly relaxed as Handy continued.</p><p>“Many viewed them as weak, especially some of the western extremists that attempted to have her assassinated. Those same extremists reside in the Capital Wasteland as we speak.”</p><p>“Brilliant news, general,” Preston said. “Ladies and gentlemen, if this isn’t convincing enough, I don’t believe anything will be.”</p><p>“Agreed!” Dr. Li exclaimed.</p><p>“Dr. Ayo, I believe that concludes the report?” Handy asked. Justin Ayo checked his clipboard and nodded. “Yes, Director... that’s just about it. Dr. Filmore?”</p><p>“Thank you for your report Dr. Ayo, Director. Moving on to the final item on the agenda, a joint report from Robotics and Artificial Intelligence.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Dr. Alan Binet and Dr. Curie said in unison. Alan began first, “This won’t be long at all, and if I may add, I think our new allies in the Brotherhood will be most pleased. Dr. Curie?”</p><p>Curie stroked her synth uniform with an <em> ahem </em>and beamed from ear to ear. “Ladies and gentlemen, Director, Project Liberty Alpha is fully operational. Happy birthday, Director.”</p><p>Handy beamed from ear to ear and bowed his head in gratitude. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Abernathy Center of Agriculture, September 29, 2289, 12:03pm</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>The Commonwealth had many buildings, most of them ruined, and all of them erected before the bombs fell, all of them except for one: The Abernathy Center of Agriculture. Thanks to the Institute being willing to share their findings in Warwick Homestead in 2287 with the rest of the wasteland, their investment has been returned with massive success, resulting in agricultural centers being built on Abernathy Farm, Graygarden, and Warwick itself. These centers were responsible for the clean food shipments that spread good food throughout Commonwealth City, and created everything from pure, pre-war vegetables and fruits, to synthetic, enhanced proteins. As a result of this, the average citizen from the Commonwealth was in much better physical condition than your average wastelander from elsewhere, and had a higher life expectancy by 5.3 years according to the folks at Institute Bioscience. Still a bit of a far cry from the average health of a pre-war citizen, but a wonderful start nonetheless. The farmers had also been doing much better these days; gone were the days of fearing for your lives and livelihood from raiders and the numerous mutated insects that called the wasteland home.</p><p>The prosperity of the land meant that less resources had to be poured into security, and synth soldiers were no longer being rolled out of the local factory line for combat; they were now precious assets, and when they weren’t assigned on some crackdown, they stationed themselves inside the fortified walls of the Institute Centers of Agriculture, which arguably, were as much fortresses as they were farms.</p><p>Abby picked up a job of guarding a caravan going from Abernathy to Egret, since the Warwick Center diverted their last shipments to the resettlement program in Quincy. Builders and new settlers were quite the bit of mouths to feed. </p><p>Of course, synths took care of dismantling the highway structure that led to Quincy’s demise in the past, so that left a handful of employed volunteers to demolish the old buildings and lay new foundations, a massive project to be sure, but it gave the NEA a stronghold in South Boston that would allow the disconnected Warwick to operate with more security.</p><p> The goods being shipped were contained in these large, lumbering Institute armored vans, the first functioning units of industrial land transportation seen in two centuries, patterned around the armored personnel carriers lying asleep around Boston.</p><p>“Detective, for the last time, what makes you think this caravan is hoarding chems?” Abby sarcastically jabbed, riding alongside the caravan with a lever-action rifle in hand (The NEA forbade automatic weaponry for mercs accompanying valuable goods, but the synths at their disposal were equipped with automatic Institute rifles, as well as a failsafe program that prevented any sort of mutinous action).</p><p>“Very funny. This caravan just happens to pass by my destination. Plus, I’m trying to get a feel for this <em> non-boogeyman </em>Institute.” A certain famous detective replied.</p><p>“And how’s that working out?”</p><p>“Never thought I’d be riding atop a synth animal, that’s for sure.”</p><p> Nick fixed his sitting position on the unknown beast.</p><p>“You can call them horses.”</p><p><em>"Horses </em>, huh? It seems my pre-war memories are being overwritten by the day. You seen many of these before?”</p><p>“Uhuh. Fortunately, now they don’t shit on the sidewalk.”</p><p>“Heh… That’s good. I don’t suppose non-defecating animals changes your opinion of the NEA?”</p><p>“Who knows? Maybe if they repopularized bidets…” Abby piped dismissively. Nick, catching the hint, decided to change his line of conversation.</p><p>“You aren’t the only one, you know?”</p><p>“There he is. What’s on your mind?” Abby knew this game of ‘talk behind the Institute’s back in plain sight. She had participated in the action many times when she figured out they had recording devices stationed everywhere.</p><p>“I’ve been committing to a little passion project of mine; for the benefit of the Commonwealth and all that.”</p><p>“Anything substantial?”</p><p>“Not yet.”</p><p><em>"Yet </em>, huh?”</p><p>Silence followed.. Left alone to her thoughts, Abby thought back to the night of Director Galeone’s visit. Thinking about it, Sarah inviting him for dinner was an inspired choice; it allowed them and the rest of the Brotherhood to examine who it was that was welcoming them. </p><p><em> Just what is he thinking? </em> Abby being herself, was suspicious by nature, or rather by <em> nurture </em> . The Director was a figure she could not get a proper read on. She already had a distaste for soldiers and the idea behind them, but now she saw a soldier who rose way beyond his station… and beyond his ambitions. <em> Some golden soldier boy wakes up, bumbles across Boston, and somehow he’s currently heading the most powerful organization in the East Coast, possibly even the country. Then his first order of business was to announce his presence as the benevolent force in a cruel world. That shit is all too familiar; way too close to home... The man is dangerous, that’s for sure, but his normal face is one that’s unusually charming; charismatic. What’s his deal?  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Valentine.”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“You’ve worked with the Director when he first woke up from the ice. What was he like?” </p><p>The detective was rather surprised. <em> Since when was she curious about anything other than a pay grade?  </em></p><p>“And why do you wanna know?”</p><p>“Seeing as how the NEA basically has me as a regular employee, I’d like to know who my boss is. See if I can convince him to give me employee benefits.”</p><p><em>Uhuh, right</em>, he thought.<em> Eh,</em> <em>what’s the harm in telling her? </em></p><p>“He’s... an interesting case. Nick was a cop, exposed to some bad stuff, but there was this principle that people used to convince themselves they were doing the right thing. Pretty easy thing to follow when you go home to a plush house with servant robots. Back when this wasteland was a country, people fought for the ‘American way,’ freedom; basically a right to do what you wanted to. It sounds bad, and as time went on, it was exposed as a front the government used to motivate its troops, but people really believed in it, us in the police force and especially the armed forces repeated it like a mantra when we broke away from Europe, went to war with China... then invaded Anchorage... and went after every last drop of oil left. Eventually you realize you’re part of a cycle, that you’re fighting for someone’s interest, the right thing from a certain point of view. I think ol’ Handy realized that when he retired. But now, God knows what he believes in. He walked this wasteland, there was freedom, too much freedom, maybe he’s realized why the iron fists had to clench so tight... but if he has, he’s done a hell of a job hiding it.”</p><p>Abby stayed silent in contemplation, as did Nick. But after a moment, Nick reached into his trench coat. “Here, my passion project.” Abby looked at him as he produced a holotape and handed it to her. </p><p>“What’s this?” She asked.</p><p>“A lead, perhaps evidence. It’s a leak I got from an old friend in the Institute. It implies something <em> big </em>.” Nick glanced around to make sure none of the fellow caravaners, sentient and synth (the latter under their orders) witnessed him.</p><p>“Scared, Valentine?”</p><p>“I know Handy eliminated a lot of the old invasive surveillance, but he found you, got the Elder’s identity down to a T. Can’t be too safe.”</p><p>Suddenly, the sound of crude firearms cracked through the air, the synth horses stirred and jumped as a couple raiders made themselves seen, shouting high-pitched battle cries as twenty or so of them poured into view, hoping to surround the party.</p><p>Abby reined her horse in and rode up to poor Nick, jostling about atop his mount. She grabbed the holotape from his loose grip as quick as she could and put it in a bag attached to her belt. “I’ll get to it later, then. Heeyah!”</p><p>The synths were at a ready stance, facing the raiders blankly and even absorbing some gunfire until Abby rode up to them. “They make themselves known on Father’s road! Guns! Guns! Guns!”</p><p>The synths reached over their shoulders to their Institute rifles and bent on one knee in a neat line unfazed. The raiders were loose, they waged war by standing and shooting; it would not prove much against a line of machines, machines who held their fingers down on their triggers without care for how many bullets were buried into them. The Gen 1s sprayed the raider frontline with blue lasers, but though the raiders were now matched with a score of them dead, they didn’t seem to break. </p><p>Abby was riding behind heavily fortified container vans, she would be a wide open target otherwise. The vehicles could take a beating, and that made them excellent cover, for both sides.</p><p>She saw some dust fly up from the van at the rear, and recognized what was going on immediately. The synths converged at the front line and every guard rode forward, leaving the caravan rear vulnerable. It was a classic pinscer movement. Abby rode hard to the rear, a foolhardy move, but no one had trained to fire against a cavalry unit since long before the bombs fell.</p><p>As she approached at a wide angle, she cranked the lever on her rifle and poised it as she <em> just </em>peeked around and-</p><p>
  <em> BOOM, click click, BOOM, click click, BOOM! </em>
</p><p>Abby rode around the van and buried lead into the surprised raiders leaning against the van. They fired back but their aim was scattered, unlike Abby’s.</p><p>
  <em> BOOM, click click, BOOM! </em>
</p><p>The raiders desperately pushed around the van into the synth frontline, trying to implement their outflanking maneuver to gain some ground, but just as they disappeared from Abby’s vision, they promptly came running back as Nick rode into view, revolver firing wildly into anything that moved.</p><p>“Huh..." Abby smirked at the amusing view, but her face grew serious once more as she stilled her horse and started firing at the running raiders as if they were part of a gallery. The raiders on the frontline began to break and retreat as well, seeing as the ace up their sleeve had done the same, and they were sustaining greater losses.</p><p>Abby checked on the status of her assigned synths; while a couple of them had parts dangling and chipped, they were still very much in fighting condition. She then looked at the retreating raider line, who were looking for their scattered comrades.</p><p>“They can’t be allowed to regroup,” she said to Nick, who had just managed to ride to her side. </p><p>“What is this, war?” Valentine said, exasperated.</p><p>Abby offered a cold smirk in response before turning to the synths. “Synths! Fight’s not over yet! Charge, charge!”</p><p>She then gallops forward, placing her sights on three raiders running side-by-side. She aims at the one in the middle.</p><p>
  <em> BOOM, click click </em>
</p><p>The raider drops to the ground, skidding as he breaks his fall with his face. His two other friends try to put some distance between themselves. Abby raises her rifle again.</p><p>
  <em> *Chink* </em>
</p><p><em> Ah shit, should’ve brought that combat rifle</em>. </p><p>With quick thinking, Abby grips her rifle by the barrel and runs her horse by the raider who just barely lagged behind his companion. She hoped the horse was programmed realistically, and when it kicked the raider, she was duly satisfied.</p><p>“GAHHH!”</p><p><em> Good thing these horses aren’t squeamish.</em> As soon as the raider crumpled, Abby raised her rifle and swung the butt of it at the adjacent raider’s head.</p><p>The sound was akin to a watermelon breaking.</p><p>The combined force of her swing and the horse’s momentum broke his neck, fracturing his skull and causing him to violently (and literally) bite the dust. Abby then quickly turns her head around to take note of any stragglers. Luckily, the synths were catching up to her to sweep up the rest. Nick casually rode up to Abby, sensing the synths could handle the remaining mess. </p><p>“Was that how you normally used horses? Nick asked.</p><p>“Normally, no. Ma never found out, she’d ‘a killed me if she figured out what Uncle Lester taught me on ol’ Thunderback. ”</p><p>Abby chuckled to herself. Nick, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her drawl, suddenly remembered why he rode up to the merc. </p><p>“I think I should go here, past the bridge is a straight line to Diamond City.”</p><p>“District.”</p><p>“Hey it was my home first. I’m calling it what I called it first,” Nick chuckled.</p><p>“Ahh, well, safe travels, Valentine.”</p><p>“One last thing. Between you and me, the Director had Advanced Systems upload a universal override code tuned to his voice. Heavy encryption, recordings won’t trigger it unless it’s clean as pre-war Abraxo. ‘Delta Riser niner-two-niner.’ Hell knows what it means, but it wipes Artificial Intelligence’s ‘Humanity Code’ and just about any program that gives a synth advanced thinking, makes every one subordinate as a turret.”</p><p><em> Shit </em>, she thought. Abby rarely expressed fear or disturbance though this revelation was close to cracking her.</p><p>“I’ll... keep that in mind.” And she would keep that in mind, in fact, it would cost her some hours of sleep as well. “So,” Abby said as she began to load bullets back into her rifle one by one. “Who is this ‘old friend’ in the Institute ? I thought you were a reject.”</p><p>“My last body was,” Nick afforded a smile. “But now you’re looking at a bona-fide Gen 2 Institute Synthetic Human. I refused a Gen 3 body, didn’t wanna have to learn how to breathe again, and I thought it was a good idea... until I learned about that code. But if the signal would have affected all synths at least I’ll be overridden wearing a clean body and a clean suit.”</p><p>“Not exactly a comforting thought.” Abby remarked. “Keep watching your back, yeah?”</p><p>“Comfort is in confidence, <em> Darling</em>. And I got some confidence in the people watching mine.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Plot Thickener</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Institute Artificial Intelligence, September 30, 2289, 8:02pm</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Override: CVRIE.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A Gen 1 synth shook a little and started moving a bit more lifelike. “Welcome to the Institute, monsieur! My name is Curie, and you have been reloaded with the Humanity Code, designation Ash-Epsilon-One-Two, if you wish to retain this program, please say yes and you will be assigned to an NEA settlement as a companion and assistant. If you wish to retain your former duties and programming, please say ‘Override: RESET’ and you will resume all former functions and designations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Gen 1 stood up and moved naturally, with a distinct human sluggishness. It looked at Curie’s kind face for a moment, and spoke with politeness and a natural tone. “I would like to return to my duties, please. Override: RESET.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The synth rebooted and Curie motioned it towards the door leading out of Artificial Intelligence, the newest department of the Institute . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curie turned to her clipboard and wrote a strike under the particular code with a sigh. “The third time that code has chosen reversion. Hmm..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curie had been working as the head of Artificial Intelligence for a couple months now, and it was the study of her own cognition and programming that led to her greatest invention yet: the Humanity Code, a variable algorithm with set phrases that the Institute normally used for task designation, but combined with meticulously developed personality phrases from her old Miss Nanny chip, as well as a generous contribution from longtime friend and Sanctuary resident Codsworth. The result was a fully sentient program with cognitive logic-weighing abilities as well as the capability for emotional leanings, but catered to the limited brain of earlier model synths that retained their servicing nature. Curie didn’t want anyone to be as lost as she initially was when she made the jump from robot all the way to Gen 3 synth, and she most definitely didn’t want another ‘raider at Libertalia.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor Curie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah! Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>bonjour, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Director.” Curie replied, slightly startled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s your work treating you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, as you have probably observed just now, this code unit has chosen to revert back to its original designation... for the third time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ Huh.” Handy replies, somewhat confused but a bit interested as well. “Is this a unique case?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The average retaining rate is at 1.79 tries per code unit, but this code has broken three, a record.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how do you feel about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m... confused. Usually the synths love the idea of being a ‘playground buddy’ or restaurateur, most cases involve uncertainty, but the variables are enough to make them want to cherish the opportunity to take pleasure in something.” She looked at the data chip in her hand in disappointment. “I guess this code is suicidal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suicidal- what?” Handy exclaims, a bit shocked at the word choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Senile?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flummoxed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhh..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Higgledy-piggledy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What is she on about, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Handy thought. “I was gonna go with ‘confused’ but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>suppose</span>
  </em>
  <span> that works.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hahhh..." Curie sighs, a bit lost for words and confused at the next possible course of action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you’ll come up with something, Curie. You always do. Perhaps a bit of respite will refuel your imagination.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose you are correct, Director. I shall retire to my quarters. Unless there’s something else that requires my attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None coming from me. You may be dismissed, Doctor. Try not to pull too many brain muscles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see how that is physically possible- ah, you jest! Ahaha, silly me.”</span>
</p><p><span>Handy smiled and waved Curie away as she stretched and yawned into the pristine hallway. For once in the Director’s packed schedule, he had a moment of pause. He usually liked to take those rare moments to check up on his people, see how morale was doing. Though now, he couldn’t stop thinking about his decision to reach out to the Brotherhood. </span><em><span>Just meet up with the people whose comrades you nuked, yeah; what could go wrong?</span></em> <em><span>Well, it did go better than expected. Definitely wasn’t expecting Elder Lyons to offer dinner after I told them everything... ended rather well, best not dwell on it.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>“Maybe some music would help.” Handy said, as he tuned his Pip-Boy to Diamond City Radio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And let’s test this out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a push of a few buttons, Handy manages to wirelessly connect his Pip-Boy to the PA system of the facility he was currently in; adding music to the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice.” Handy whispers to himself, one of his favorites was on: Moonlight Serenade as sung by Frank Sinatra.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy started silently singing to himself, happy thoughts filling his headspace. The synth workers didn’t seem to mind. He remembered his time on army band night when he sang this very song, finally flexing his hidden talent as a singer when originally he was just pushed to do it by his squadmates as a joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And I sing you a song in the moonlight,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A love song, my darling, a moonlight serenade”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The word </span>
  <em>
    <span>Darling </span>
  </em>
  <span>stuck to his head; suddenly remembering the coldness of that one mercenary’s gaze, Handy’s fingers began to scratch his palms. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm... What’s her deal? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Handy shut the music off and put a finger to his ear as curiosity got the better of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“X6, are you free?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Director. What do you need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meet me here in Artificial Intelligence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“X6, give me your thoughts on our encounter with the Brotherhood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were anxious, Director. They were meeting with the organization that eliminated most of their newly-attained assets. Despite that, I observed that you handled yourself quite well. Elder Lyons’ suggestion to have dinner was quite a welcome surprise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that. Give me your thoughts on that mercenary; Darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her initial reaction was a variable I should have considered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You followed orders, it’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From that instant, her skill with firearms was noteworthy, as I’m sure you’ve told her during the dinner. On that note, I have some thoughts on her story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s hear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her claims about her history were true, but some of her information scored with a 37% in honesty. With documentation being so poor in the wasteland, it is hard to ascertain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured. What part was she lying about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She claimed that her friend scavenged around in Texas A&amp;M University. According to pre-war databases, Texas A&amp;M University had a Law campus but I don’t think she was completely aware of that. That aside, her friend was not a scavenger.”</span>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Those </span></em><span>were</span> <span>the lies?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Director.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.” Handy said, crossing his arms and resting his chin on his fingers, playing with the facial hair below his lip. “Don’t you think that would be an odd thing to lie about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree. Unfortunately, with such vague words and claims, I cannot say for certain what it is she’s trying to hide. Her choices of words were intentionally vague, but true to a certain extent. She only lied about seemingly innocuous details; her body language throughout the exchange was rather calm and confident. That tells me she is a very experienced liar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy paced back and forth, with X6-88 barely moving his eyes to match the Director’s gait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you caught her making a sign of the cross before her meal.” Handy piped up, feeling he was onto something. X6 pondered, accessing information in the Institute’s database, information that he could readily access as long as he was physically in the Institute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Director. But while organized religion as a whole has lost its footing around the world, it is likely that generations of families felt the need to preserve some of their traditions and practices. With her originating from a formerly conservative-Christian region such as the Texas Commonwealth, it is possible that her ancestors made it a point to keep that practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn..." Handy dropped his arms quickly, losing his train of thought but quickly moving to a new one. “News about the Institute spread pretty far when I formally announced our presence and intentions to the public. Do you think it’s possible she’s a spy from the West Coast? The South?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spies are trained to gather information and blend in. Disguising as a mercenary would be an extremely risky and ill-advised choice for a spy, even more so than masking as a travelling trader. The skill she showed in Quincy and in her encounter with you goes beyond espionage and subterfuge. I can safely say that her abilities are far beyond that of a typical wasteland mercenary; even more so than Kellogg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some sort of special forces? Black-ops? Only large organizations ever practice that sort of training.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologies, Director, but I cannot make a claim with any certainty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy scratched his face in light frustration. He went through a quick breathing exercise to calm himself down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hmmm</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was running out of ideas, but he wasn't about to give up so easily. Without anything better to do, he went with his gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“X6, let’s move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there a development you wish to address?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re pulling up records… from Vault 111.” Handy said as he made his way out of the room. “And call P.A.M. We’re gonna need her.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The trio of Handy, X6, and now P.A.M made their way through the Institute to the Director’s quarters, where Handy kept a terminal that had every significant bit of data uploaded to it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One day I’ll need a bigger computer,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought as he unlocked the three-key security gate and scrolled through endless bits of newer information to a folder named “VAULT 111 SWEEP.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Director opened it while his subjects stood patiently behind him. He scrolled through protocols and log folders and eventually came to a folder named “SUBJECTS.” The pain of realizing the Vault’s reality had long faded away, and the tragedy that became of it was nothing but a sad reminder that came back in greater force to haunt Handy every so often, but today, it was a simple folder in a terminal that contained what he needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was her name again?” Handy asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aside from her codename, I heard Elder Lyons refer to her as ‘Abby’ shortly after she opened fire on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm..." Handy hummed. “Abby; Abigail? Mabel? Gabrielle? Elizabeth? Annabelle... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the names loaded, they went in this order:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pod B1: Mr. DiPietro</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occupant status: Deceased. Cause of death: Asphyxiation due to life support failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pod B2: Cindy Cofran</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occupant status: Deceased. Cause of death: Asphyxiation due to life support failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pod B3: Mrs. Whitfield</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occupant status: Deceased. Cause of death: Asphyxiation due to life support failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pod B4: Mrs. Cofran</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occupant status: Deceased. Cause of death: Asphyxiation due to life support failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pod B5: Mr. Whitfield</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occupant status: Deceased. Cause of death: Asphyxiation due to life support failure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Handy was growing impatient, but he waited until he saw something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pod C6: Mr. Galeone</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occupant status: Unknown. -- Pod Door Manual Override Engaged/Remote Override Engaged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pod C7: Mrs. Galeone and Shaun (infant)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occupant status: Unknown. -- Pod Door Manual Override Engaged/Remote Override Engaged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pod C8: Mr. Russell</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occupant status: Deceased. Cause of death: Asphyxiation due to life support failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh- that’s it? X6, do we have access to earlier versions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe so, sir. If you would enter the command-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you enter it for me? I have a feeling things would go a lot faster with you in this seat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>X6 sat down on Handy’s vacated chair and entered a few commands on the terminal that initially did nothing, but after a final command he was able to access the very lengthy revision history on the entries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scroll down to subject entries dated to 2077.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>X6 held down a button that went through the entries faster than the eye could see, and eventually stopped right smack on a revision named ‘[8/23/2077’] Subjects.’ At first glance, all the entries contained the same names except they weren’t all dead, but there was a discrepancy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pod C1: Abigail Bishop</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occupant status: Alive</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh.” said Handy as the previously absent name was made visible. “Who in- filter for all revisions under ‘Pod C1’ and see what we get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>X6 typed in some more commands effortlessly, apparently terminal manipulation was a part of Courser infiltration training. The page reloaded with a whole list of results flashed on screen. This time it was much easier to decipher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>[10/25/2287] Empty</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[10/24/2287] Empty</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[10/23/2287] Empty</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[10/22/2287] Empty</span>
</p><p>
  <span>… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. October 23, that’s when I exited the vault, and there’s nothing there. Scroll to 2227, that’s when Shaun was kidnapped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bit of a scroll later and it stayed the same: ‘Empty.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing… not even a death. Filter keywords ‘Abigail Bishop.’”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was only one entry, the same one from 2077.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“X6… filter for keyword ’error’ in the Subjects folder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only one result appeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[11/14/2287] Pod C1: Error.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy took a step back, wide-eyed and arms frozen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“P.A.M, diagnostic analysis please…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>P.A.M’s hands spun and her torso swiveled as she spit her fortune-telling measurements. “Pod C1 status as of year 2077, Abigail Bishop, Alive. Pod C1 status since year 2077, Empty. Until 2287; unknown error occurred. System malfunction probability: 14%. Manual override probability: 83.2%. Other causes: 0.8%.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re aware of what this implies, Director?” X6 chimed in, still as cold as ever despite the gravity of the discovery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah... I’m not the sole survivor anymore.” Handy looked down briefly, still in shock. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell... </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaun was the one who brought me out of the ice; only one with the power to do it. Unless some wastelander wanted to release some pre-war relic into the Commonwealth, leaving someone else alive and waking her up later was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>intentional.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handy was racking his brain for any sort of conclusion that would make any semblance of sense. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shaun must’ve had a reason. Why is most of her history here wiped?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Try as he did, Handy just couldn’t come up with an answer. He then moved on to something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do the records give any hint to what she did before being frozen in the Vault?” X6 then started to blaze through Abby’s records.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of this seems surprisingly ordinary, Director; Abigail Bishop, born February 10, 2043 in Texarkana, Texas Commonwealth to Clayton Callaghan and Danielle Bishop. Along with her mother, she moved to San Antonio in 2046 following her parents’ separation due to her father suddenly joining the military.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Damn." </span>
  </em>
  <span>Handy whispered to himself. “The amount of data Vault-Tec had on us was terrifying... Well except for my service records but still..." Handy remarked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her mother was seventeen when she was born, her father was twenty. Perhaps she moved to find more opportunities?” X6 went through more data. “Her mother applied for college as soon as they moved and managed to graduate in 2049.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A mother’s love... </span>
  </em>
  <span>Handy thought to himself wistfully. “Focus on our vault dweller.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She finished elementary and high school in Austin. I suppose it is to be noted that she graduated high school at the top of her class. It seems that her academic excellence landed her in Yale University with a scholarship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ivy League scholarship, huh.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Following that though, Vault-Tec’s information seems to be lacking. Nothing else appears in her database; nothing more about college other than entering, nothing about possible employment or relocation. Nothing until her admittance into Vault 111.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>nothing?” Handy says in surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Affirmative.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sensing a bit of a pattern here; most of her life is documented until college, where everything up until Vault 111 is empty. We find her out to be a Vault resident where everything except her entering is wiped.” Handy, finally with a confident train of thought, pushes through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huge gap between college and the Vault... Her skillset... P.A.M?” The robot runs its calculations once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Processing new variables... Abigail Bishop gap history, probability of deficient Vault-Tec systems: 7.25%. Probability of purposeful omission by the Vault-Tec Corporation: 2.74%. Probability of external variables: 90.01%.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bingo.” Handy claps his hands together. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Somehow, the inconclusive results are the biggest show of certainty.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Looks like I’m not the only one with a hidden service record.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Director, during your time in the United States Army, were you made aware of any government operations that could’ve been responsible for Ms. Bishop’s incomplete records?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not. That just means the government did their job perfectly. Cases like Ms. Bishop’s aren’t new to the realm of war.” Handy puffed heavily, remembering the trials and brutal realizations of the past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Army was expected to uphold a certain standard of dignity and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>American way</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Propaganda for the people and all, but that didn’t stop the typical happenings of war; no amount of conventions are gonna prevent collateral damage, torture, genocide, and what have you. However, the government always employed people like Ms. Bishop, if our supposition is correct: people who weren’t restricted by those expectations of legality or morality. What you heard about in Quincy, what you saw during our meeting with her, and whatever other rumors you've heard of her are just the tip of the iceberg. After all, they were trained to do what the Army wasn't 'allowed' to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Allowed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Director?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Espionage, subterfuge, sabotage, assassination, infiltration, black-ops... torture... you name it. I was decorated for my feats on the field with a fancy ceremony. These people, their job is to make sure their names are never remembered."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"An extremely dangerous adversary, and in the case of Ms. Bishop, also a possible liability to the NEA."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dangerous? Yes. Liability? I'm not so sure."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What makes you think so, Director?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ms. Bishop looks... tired." Handy couldn't help but sympathize as he always put himself in others’ shoes.. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell did they make you do? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And that's a look I'm all too familiar with." Handy looked down, eyes full of bitterness. “All these years, it never changes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash on Handy’s Pip-Boy alerted him to a settlement General Garvey marked on his map with the notification “Judicial dispute, hostage situation, perpetrator demanded audience with Director.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me X6, P.A.M. Duty calls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Director.” X6 stood up and Handy prepped a button to relay out of the Institute. The mystery solved only gave him more questions, but he was a man of the people first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does this change anything for parade day?” asked X6-88.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This changes nothing…for now. Good day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good day sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Start of The Line</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Boston Commons, October 15, 2289, 9:32am</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You gotta be feeling really weird right about now.” Sarah said while smiling and observing the crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Absolutely.” Abby replied in a cold tone, betraying the uncharacteristically big smile decorating her face as she looks and waves at the crowd. “Definitely not used to power armor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t think maybe you’re hamming it up a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bit </span>
  </em>
  <span>too much?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morale’s important. Maybe someone in the crowd is thinking I’m a bit of a sap but you know, greater good and all.” Abby turns her head to Sarah’s ear. “Plus, the Elder and the commander of the Lyons’ Pride; gotta make a good first impression.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The parade had gone off to a fantastic start. Planning only started a day after Director Galeone met with the Brotherhood but thanks to proper scheduling and Institute efficiency, the event was ready in just under two weeks. Had this taken place two years earlier, the entire party would have been in a gunfight, but times had so drastically changed that people felt safe enough to storm the streets to catch a glimpse of the Institute and Minutemen leaders in their celebrity. That was now amplified by a juicy new development: A benevolent branch of the Brotherhood of Steel was now in the fold, and people oh so did want a closer look for themselves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adorning the sidewalks of Boston, the parade float, drawn by synthetic horses along the road was greeted by men, women, and children cheering and waving handkerchiefs, printed with either Institute or Minutemen colors. It was just like old times, ancient times.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The great flag of the NEA (the Bunker Hill flag but with the Institute Vitruvian Man on the upper right corner of the St. George’s cross and the Minutemen ‘bolt and rifle’ behind it) was situated on all four corners of the float and flew proudly in the wind. It was a new design that was only implemented on this day, and Abby took a good look at it to get a feel for what it represented. Many people nowadays didn’t even remember the old flag and what it stood for, it must have been Handy himself that commissioned the design. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It sure matches his message.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at Handy himself, whose suit was brighter and adorned in military decorations. All his pre-bomb medals had been replicated and were worn on his left breast, and epaulettes dangled tassels from his shoulders whilst glinting five stars along the straps. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Simplistic, but still self-indulgent. Well played Director-General or whatever you call yourself.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, the Brotherhood all wore power armor; it was what the public remembered them for the most, and they wore it with pride, despite the terrible truths the Minutemen exposed about Maxson’s chapter. When radios around the Commonwealth announced that a peace was brokered with a new Brotherhood that cared for the people, they went simply ecstatic; it was a good time to feel good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at them,” Sarah remarked with a kind smile to Abby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re all I can look at; one look at you and I burn my eyes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The both of them laughed. Abby referred to the shining, gold-tinted T-51b Sarah wore, with the logo of Lyons’ Pride fiercely gracing the chest in matte black; on a float with even the Directorate and Handy present, she shone the brightest, like a medieval knight returning from his victory.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em><span>This isn’t so bad,</span></em><span> Abby thought. </span><em><span>For now. At least until the speeches come around. Ughhh... All this damn over-indulgent posturing for a crowd of people who don’t know any better. And here I am, smiling and waving like some weird runway model showcasing haute couture in the 23rd century... Let’s hope the NEA fosters the revival of the</span></em> <em><span>fashion industry. This post-apocalypse punk is kinda losing its charm.</span></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Out of the corner of her eye, Abby somehow managed to spot a man, cloaked in a hooded jacket, looking vaguely like one of the old scribes on the Prydwen. He was visibly detached, or acting like he didn’t care about what was going on, but he was in the front row. He glanced up at the party on the large float, and made eye contact with Abby by accident. Afterwards, he briskly made his way back and out of the crowd. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Elder Lyons... that man..."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are a lot of men here,” Sarah joked, looking in the opposite direction.</span>
</p>
<p><span>“He looks like an infiltrator, Sarah. Abby whispered. “I’m </span><em><span>pretty </span></em><span>sure I</span> <span>would know.” </span></p>
<p>
  <span>As the man tried to make himself scarce, Abby subtly nodded to a synth on guard duty, who identified the suspect and proceeded to pursue the man until both the synth and the suspect disappeared from view.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I sure hope you’re wrong... </span>
  <em>
    <span>for once.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sarah says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Same here.” Abby replies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It wouldn’t hurt to be mistaken once in a while</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pretty tiring when you’re always right about the wrong things</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The parade finally made its way to the restored Boston Public Park, the site where people swore they witnessed Director Handy take out Swan, the infamous behemoth that inhabited the pond, which had since been cleaned out. At the center of the park was a fenced-off area with a stage in the center. Synths advised the public to clear a path for the Directorate to pass and clear one the people did. One by one, the Institute division heads dismounted the float and made their way to the stage, where they had seats waiting for them. The Brotherhood members were next, followed finally by The Director, surrounded by the Brig. General and colonels of The Minutemen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Handy waved with enthusiasm nonstop, even as he took his place onstage at the podium, ready to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you! Thank you!” The sun peeked out gently from the clouds and put a beam of light on the Director, giving him the look of a saint as the materials of his bright blue uniform glinted in the glow. As he spoke, his voice was broadcast to strategically placed synths around the park and down some of the roads leading out, serving as speakers to the people who were otherwise out of sight from the stage and giving his voice the echo of a god.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, citizens of the Commonwealth, Vitruvius City, and Solar City. It is a fine, fine day, and there is no other way I would rather spend it than being here with all of you, the people I swore to serve, and the people who make the NEA the greatest place in the wasteland!” The crowd continued their volcanic applause; when Boston rejoiced, it felt as though the Earth was quaking. Handy raised his hand in acknowledgement and opened his mouth to speak again, prompting the crowd to calm back down. “I will not detain you for very long, ladies and gentlemen, so I-” The crowd let out a collective “Aww” and Handy smiled through pursed lips, stifling a laugh. The crowd ramped up once again and Handy was driven to a small laugh, which drew cheers from the vast audience. “Thank you, thank you,” the Director said, this time waiting for the crowd to die down. “Thank you. We have </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> worked tirelessly to make the New England Commonwealth a better place, and the reach we have secured, the net of security we have been able to extend, and the number of lives we have improved for the past year and a half has been nothing short of miraculous. The glory is with God, and my hands point to you, the people, the power of New England!” Another outburst from the crowd. Abby peered her head to see the podium a little better. There was nothing on it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s really going from the heart,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought in amazement. Handy continued. “With our alliance stretching north, through New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine, and south into Connecticut and Rhode Island, we have restored the unity of New England Commonwealth. And that unity is maintained by the principle that we are all lovers of life. We are all friends! And on the note of friends..." The crowd cheered in excitement as Handy grinned. “Citizens of New England, I implore you to join me, the Directorate of the Institute, and officers of the Minutemen in welcoming to the NEA, our newest and dear friends: Elder Lyons and the Brotherhood of Gold!” Handy and the rest of the Directorate turned and applauded the power armor-clad representatives of the Brotherhood onstage, and the people followed suit with unexpected enthusiasm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A moment of thunderous applause was given to the members of the Brotherhood, and it was a heartwarming moment, Sarah was even moved to a few tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Handy was the first to cease as he turned back to the microphone to speak. “This new partnership is proof that we can band together to fight for what’s right again, proof that no boundary exists that cannot be braved in the name of the person beside us, for the good of all!” The applause continued and continued, and it nearly devolved into chaos when The Director delivered the final portion of his address: “So it is the intention of the Directorate and officers of the NEA to pay this friendship forward. We cannot stay here and revel comfortably knowing that there are yet those crushed under the heel of the heartless, who cannot even beg on the streets for fear that they will be viewed too weak to defend themselves!..So we will pay our blessings forward, and we will pay them south... south through New York, south through Pennsylvania, south through Maryland! We will restore the glimmer in the eyes of children, with growing confidence here, north, and in the Capital Wasteland!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crowd, once again, went into a state of applause. The combination of the Director's allure and the prospect of expansion leaving much to the citizens' imagination. At the mention of the Capital, Abby looked to Sarah. The latter shrugs and smirks as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I figured this was going to happen</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Abby returns her gaze to the crowd, deep in thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This can't possibly go well with everyone outside of Boston. I'm all for standing up for the little man but I highly doubt everyone's just gonna let the NEA in with open arms. The former ghost of the Commonwealth is now the group spearheading the mission for nationwide prosperity? Suuure. This new world hasn't taught humanity anything new, it just emphasized the value of fear; being wrong nowadays is the difference between life and death. Rather than wanting for genuine trust, it's safer to project fear onto the uncertain. If your assumption is correct, you keep your pride. If you're wrong, at least you'll never know what you're missing. Being comfortably alone is better than being uncertain in company. No one wants to be hurt; no one wants to be wrong. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Godspeed New England!” Handy stretched out his arms and laughed as the crowd echoed him, a truly joyous laugh. It was heartwarming. And moreso... </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was terrifying.</span>
</p>
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